


Through the Fire and the Flames

by orphan_account



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Fire, M/M, Romance, Timeskip, opposite of slow burn cuz I’m impatient, pyrokinesis, smooches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24784363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ja’far can’t remember having any thoughts of fire before the accidents.Or rather, he might not had had any opinions towards it.Ja’far is a pyrokinetic, with a natural bond with fire, and a odd love interest with a fiery personality.
Relationships: Jafar/Ren Kouen
Comments: 15
Kudos: 11





	1. Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> I just...impulse write this and I’m still surprised by it.

It had started of small. The first incidents being so _small_ , that they could be written of as... _simple accidents_ that could be caused by stress, or being tired, or even forgetfulness, forgetting to blow out a burning candle wasn’t unheard of, after all.

Ja’far can’t remember having any thoughts of fire before the accidents. 

Or rather, he might not had had any _opinions_ towards it.

Maybe he thought it looked pretty, dancing in brightly glowing swirls in his hands before it disappeared, then vanishing and appearing on a lively plant or the wall, turning it into ash in a second. The incidents threatening to heavily damage something more than once.

His parents had thought it to be a curse, something dark and dangerous, something to be confined, or he would hurt others, and himself.

But he never did hurt himself, the fire never harmed him, never even touched his pale skin.

Shaka had found use of his curse _instantly._ Sending him out on dangerous missions to commit _arson,_ something that he excelled at. But at the end of the day it wasn’t usual for people to have this curse, so magicians had studied him, trying to understand _why_ this was happening. They never found out anything of use.

The only way he had found something of ‘use’ about his curse was through himself.

He learned to control it bit by bit the older he got, being able to actually light a fire consciously by the age of 8. He had managed to make it _almost_ stop spreading at the age of 10. It was putting it out that was harder than anything to learn.

He had found a few uses of it, such as when he had been close to bleeding out on a cold stone floor, it had helped him cauterise wounds, burning people’s body parts for torture, and just simply hurting people with his curse. That was what he’d always known how to do, hurting is the only thing his fire knows, only thing it is.

That was, until Sinbad picked him up from the burning hell he had been living in. Pulling him up from his worn out feet, him Vittel and Mahad, rough around the edges and crimson blood staining their hands.

He is forever grateful, and he knew They would be too, even if they’re long gone.

Sinbad had given him a purpose, a meaning in life outside of mindless slaughter, and he had given him a use of his... _ability_ (as Sinbad liked to call it) as well, things he had never thought about before.

Fire, Ja’far had realised over the years, could help with many things. Not _only_ pain, but heat and warmth, light and power. A quick spark from his flame could help the kitchen to continue cooking even, if they couldn’t light a fire normally, it could light the dark castle up, and more importantly, it could keep someone _warm._

He had been in Immuchak with people whose bodies hadn’t been built for the cold weather the same way it’s inhabitants were. He had been able to keep them warm, helping them not freeze to death. 

He had never known before the happiness you could feel, seeing that expression on someone’s face. The face of someone thankful, and so ungodly happy.

And he had done it with what is family had considered an unstable curse and what his master considered a useful weapon.

He could never let that feeling, the feeling of a hand reaching out to him slip through, leaving his memory with only a dull image of Sinbad’s hand. He held it in his heart and memories with a vice grip.

The biggest surprise back then was that Sinbad had known about his curse. He had accepted it, and he even thought it was _cool._

It was is a big part of his life, the fire. But _of course_ it was, it was something he had, even if he sometimes wished he didn’t, to be painted up as a monster if people knew. 

He didn’t have much problem to stop it from flaring up now though, and he had confidence in his ability to control it. His ability could still flare up if his emotions got too out of control, annoyingly so. He had had a few close calls in the past, when his anger had begun to rage and the fire following in its tracks, burning down Shaka to the ground that one, wonderful time. Trenches and walls of blinding hot light, tearing through flesh in a fit of pure rage.

But it had always, _always_ been anger, never had another feeling managed to light the flame inside of him, and set something on fire around him.

Even if it had felt like it had bordered on doing it, a swirl of warmth on his pale fingertips when he had gotten incredibly happy, but nothing had actually began to burn, good enough for him really.

Not until that... _fateful_ day.

The summit that they had managed to make happen was one of the most important meetings that year. Reim, Kou and Sindria all meeting up to hear the Magi’s story.

He had prepared himself for it, and the whole day before they arrived he had tried relaxing, reading word after word to keep his stress from going too high, worried that the flames might start spreading over the ship, which could lead to a bloodbath on a spectacular degree.

That’s why he had been relaxing in his hammock the entire day.

The large ship swayed more than he would like, rocking on the gentle waves in a slow manner. No doubt that Sinbad was up on deck, enjoying the salty winds that would blow against his face.

He sighed, hands tracing the fibre of the hammock’s tightly woven fabric, head nestled in the crooks of it. 

The strands of his white hair annoyed his eyes, and he pushed them to behind his ears. Maybe his hair was becoming too long.

He thought back to Yamraiha, she was a magician, and the summit didn’t allow magicians. So the woman had stayed home, running Sindria in their absence.

He wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t for her being a water mage, and she had been a safe net at times, when his temper had flared up too much. He didn’t like pushing it on her, but she had saved things from his dangerous ability many times, and he would’ve felt safer, knowing that if it got out of control, someone would be able to stop it.

He knew how to control it, but the anxiety filled ‘what ifs’ lingered in his mind, eating at his confidence whenever he drowned himself in them.

Masrur’s rumbling call of his name made him look up from the fibre pattern.

The other man was barely sweating, despite the rough heat Ja’far knew the others faced on deck. Another reason he had stayed here.

“Masrur, good to see you.” Ja’far smiled, closing his eyes. Masrur walked across the floorboards, sitting down in his hammock.

They didn’t talk, and simply basked in the small amount of warmth that crawled through the floorboards. Ja’far hummed, carding his fingers in his hair.

It felt nice, simply listening to his own humming and the sounds from above them, and Masrur presence was also nice, him simply being there helped his stress calm down.

Before he knew it, the sun had disappeared over the horizon, stars painting the dark night sky above them, the star signs showing themselves for the one eager astronomer that had been waiting the whole long day for his chance to observe and muse over the universe once again.

Ja’far had crept up silently from under the deck, his hat still in his hammock. 

In grey eyes reflected the universe it’s secrets, twinkling above the man, such a small, small being, merely of flesh and blood and always a part of something bigger in the long run. Something that _god_ had planned out from the beginning of it all, the lives written down from start to finish and Ja’far mumbled slowly, words from a language he handy spoke in years, but he still let them roll of his tongue in slow strokes, body motionless when he stared up at the large night sky. A pale had reached out, he didn’t know if he wanted to touch it, but he still reached out, feeling a _fire_ burn far away, maybe in the stars. He knew the flames called for him, nobody else, _him._ He had been born with the fire raging inside of him, coursing through his crimson blood since the day of his birth, and on the day of his death all rukh that inhabited the warmth, light and fire would mourn him.

The spark that lit up in his tired eyes was something he didn’t notice himself, the pulling that he felt from the fire so far away made his heart ache. Though, it felt like it wasn’t in the sky anymore, but somewhere far out at sea, something in the water? No, it was something far of I’m the dark, sailing over the waves like he was doing himself.

After the sun had risen over the horizon once again, the ship from Sindria had arrived at it’s destination.

A small island, not something you would bat an eye at, if you were tracing a world map, but this time it was the central for a large achievement in history. 

Later, Ja’far had gathered all the metal vessels his king had, placing them in one place. And after they waited for Kou and Reim to arrive. 

Even then, the _ache_ only became stronger the longer they waited, and when the time of the summit would have started, his heart would feel like it was burning.

Kouen wasn’t a fan of sailing, but it was better than swimming.

He missed the solid ground, not swaying every second would be nice too.

With those opinions, having finally arrived at their destination Kouen felt himself sigh in relief, though he couldn’t forget the importance of this meeting, even for a second.

Even though the formalities seemed to breeze past him, leaving their metal vessels to Sinbad’s generals and then finally getting the summit started.

He ignored most around him, all his attention on the sight before him, the tale of Alma Torran.

It was halfway through the first part that someone noticed something odd, one of the people from Reim had vanished.

Nerva, son of Reim’s emperor, wasn’t anywhere.

“Where is he?” Someone whispered.

Kouen sighed, this was turning out bad, he wanted to know more of Alma Torran.

But not even a minute later, Sinbad’s right hand man came into view, his hand clutching Nerva’s clothes.

“This gentleman was trying to retrieve his Metal vessel, so I stopped him.” Ja’far said, bowing and pushing Nerva in front of everyone. 

Gasps were heard, and rightfully so. 

Kouen found his eyes meeting with slitted, snake like grey eyes, and the intense stare Ja’far gave him was impressive. Moving over he saw something...unusual.

On Nerva’s toga, large hand-shaped _burn marks_ could be seen.

Ja’far shifted were he stood, hand rubbing his forearm as if it was hurting. “I’ll leave now, excuse me.”

“Wait.” Sinbad’s voice rang over the mumbles. “Ja’far, you can keep an eye on everyone here. The others can look over the metal vessels.” 

Ja’far frowned, but agreed, walking with graceful steps and standing with the other people from Sindria.

Kouen couldn’t take his eyes of the man, his curiosity in full spark. This Ja’far, was certainly more than what met the eye.

The first part of the story had concluded, and many were trying to process the information, while others had their attention directed to other things. Namely, a person.

Kouen knew he wasn’t the only one caught up in it, the story, but many of them seemed to notice this one man in particular.

Ja’far gasped, falling to his knees, clutching his chest.

The burning had gotten worse, his heart beating wildly, reminding him of a loose horse, running away for its life, the power of its hooves stomping over dirt marching the rapid punches of pain, his entire head thumped along with his heart. He felt warm, the fire inside him clawing, wanting to get out through the pores that his skin possessed.

He gagged, trying to claw off his clothes to get the heat to _stop,_ but to no avail. It just continued to burn, and turn his mind into a frenzied mess.

The burning had only began to get too bad when he had first laid his eyes on Kouen. 

Ja’far couldn’t explain it, but the moment his dark eyes met Kouen’s ones, the sound seemed to stop.

His heart started to beat quicker, and the slow ache in his chest started to creep into a burning zone, his face felt hotter, and tiny beads of sweat began to glue his hair to his forehead. He ignored it.

But now he couldn’t ignore it, on his knees and clawing at the ground, trying for god’s sake to _breathe._

He could barely make out worried voices above him, floating along over his head like the clouds floated over a grass plain.

Kouen had stood in his place, observing the pale man. Ja’far’s eyes were open, dull, but open, and they had met with Kouen’s.

Something with the stare pleaded for help, begging for _Kouen_ to relieve him of the pain that he was in.

But he stood still, he didn’t know the man, and his friends were already surrounding him, asking what was wrong.

Something interesting with the whole ordeal, in Kouen’s mind at least, was the look of utter _panic_ on Sinbad’s face.

The summit would’ve been paused anyways because of lunch. But Ja’far’s friends were leading him somewhere, while Sinbad explained that Ja’far, the man that had fallen over, had a disease which made his body heat up and keel over at times.

Kouen didn’t buy it, didn’t trust Sinbad but what else explanation could there be?

The tale had continued, even if Sinbad looked more serious than before, his brows furrowed.

They had paused later, for food, all the countries retreating to their fleets, cooks preparing meals, everyone thinking over the things they had gotten to witness.

Kouen had taken a small piece of bread with him, going for a quick walk around island.

The island was large, but he was only going around the outer edges or it’s rocky surface, feet trailing near the mud that had been created from the salty sea water that hit the edge.

He had expected to see birds, maybe a few critters if he had a quick eye but instead he saw someone sitting on the sandbank, their feet gingerly poking the water.

He walked closer, and he could see that it was Ja’far, who again seemed crumpled over in pain.

Kouen sat next to him, a hand placed on Ja’far’s shoulder and the man shot up, confused and frantic grey eyes searching for the person that had disrupted him.

Ja’far didn’t flinch back, but his eyes softened, and while his hand was still clutching his chest, his pain muddled mind seemed to calm down, and the ragged and harsh breathes turned into something more gentle.

Ja’far knew the moment he felt a hand on his shoulder that it wasn’t Sinbad or Sharrkan or anyone that he knew well. Because everyone else had warm hands, but this one was cold. Or, it cooled him down, making him lean into the broad hand.

But Ren Kouen had _very_ nice hands, it felt like cold trickles of water pushed back against the burning.

Ja’far felt his face burn a little more than his body when he pulled his robes down, showing the pale skin that adorned his shoulders, placing Kouen’s hand directly on there. Sighing in relief Ja’far smiled.

Kouen was still staring. He felt confused, but also intrigued by the burning heat under his rough palms.

Ja’far felt the heat welling up inside him turn more into gentle flames, licking his heart, inside of the pits of hell it had to endure just minutes before.

He wanted to wrap his arms around Kouen, just to get the heat off from him fully. He wondered if it was his ability that ached, maybe it would swallow him, burn him up from the _inside_ like his parents had said it would.

Kouen studied Ja’far in the time the pale man sat with his eyes closed, enjoying the cool hand. He didn’t know how many minutes passed before a soldier called out to him, saying that the summit would resume from where it had left off.

He could studied the soft porcelain skin, and the splatter of freckles that adorned that skin. He couldn’t see his grey eyes from behind his eyelids, but he could imagine the soft look in them while his soft, pale lips, (that had a spark of lush pink in them that Kouen had transfixed himself on) quirked into a smile, only for Kouen’s red eyes to witness. Even the pretty, silk looking locks of hair that trailed over his thin eyebrows was something to be admired, Ja’far was something he had never seen before and it...amazed him.

He had stood up instead, with Ja’far’s expression morphing into one of _hurt,_ but Kouen simply nodded to the man, leaving him alone on the sand bank.


	2. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kouen gets a welcomed guest.

The news that Judar had passed away made Ja’far relieved. But _Alibaba’s_ death was different.

The young boy he had grown close to, and had felt a burning connection with, sunshine eyes and a smile plastered on his face. Awkward but strong in his own way and Ja’far had felt depressed for a long time after that.

Not only did his traitorous heart long for Ren Kouen’s cold touch, a complete opposite to his own, but the longing had made him feel down, his ability not responding as well as it should and because of that he felt like a burnt out match, or a campfire left out in the rain.

And with Alibaba’s death now lingering in his mind, abs knowing that both Sharrkan and Yamraiha had felt even _worse._

He had cried. The tears running down his cheeks, body folded over in a fetal position, tears staining the fabric of his robes.

It felt good, his heart still heavy and cold, no fire in is veins but some of the stress had ran off him, pooling at his feet instead of filling up his mind and body.

The heat in his body welled up once again, the strong sense of sadness must be the reason, he thought.

Later, Sinbad had told him about the execution.

Or, fake execution.

His heart had dropped, the man that had cooled the burning flames with his touch alone was going to be killed? He had panicked until Sinbad had told him it was fake.

The sigh that escaped him wasn’t unnoticed by his king, but he wasn’t questioned.

Even if the boat ride to Kou was a long one, Ja’far barely noticed it, the rocking of the ship not bothering him as much as the gentle ache in his heart.

It wasn’t the same fire that had encased his body at the summit, but a more...gentle flame, licking at his heart.

It felt good, despite the small amounts of pain, the heat had returned to his blood, and later that night he had went out on deck, on his knees close to the ridge, holding his hands in a cup looking motion, and he sighed, focusing.

There had always been something, a feeling, a spark inside of him. Always when he had to light fires himself, the spark began as a warmth in his fingertips, before a light began to swirl before his eyes.

It was pure _power_ radiating from his fingertips. His power, and it became hotter, but not enough to hurt, no, it felt like a warm hug. A kiss on the cheek or a handshake. The power shuddered and trembled, before the light became a weak flame, bursting out into a tiny blazing light in his cupped hands.

Fire.

Fire danced in his hands, the gift he had been given on the day of his birth, or maybe even before that.

A small flame, that he could turn into a blaze that could envelop everything, _destroying_ everything.

His gaze flickered, the power was...shaky. It felt like the time of the first Sindria, the day the whole island had been left in ashes.

His _power_ had gotten out off control, and had razed through the entire island in his despair, not leaving a single thing _alive._

He was still glad to this day that Sinbad and the others had been on a boat, far away from the fire.

But his powers had then been shaky, uncontrollable. And with that thought he put out the small fire in his hand, before stumbling back under deck.

Kouen sat alone in his cell. 

He had given his arm up, now Hakuryuu had it. But he wasn’t thinking of that. No, he was thinking of the summit.

Aladdin had explained the plan to him, to create a fake execution, the news had slipped and Sinbad already knew of it, and so in turn his adviser. 

Sinbad’s adviser, or head adviser. If Kouen wasn’t mistaken, which would be Ja’far.

He chuckled.

Ja’far’s hurt expression from the last time they met, at the end of the summit, had burnt itself into his mind, those grey eyes lingering even in his dreams.

Ja’far wasn’t handsome by Kou standards, but by Kouen’s own he surely was.

He really didn’t know what curse he had gotten, being attracted to his enemy’s right hand man, and getting attracted at the first sight of him too. Stupid, all of it.

His heart had been captured by a man such as Ja’far, with that hidden ferocity he was desperate to hide...

Kouen thought that Ja’far would be much, much better suited in Kou, not having to hide that wonderful side of him. He had seen it that one time, when Ja’far had forced Nerva back to the summit.

He wondered where Ja’far was, at the execution maybe? This- this _Ja’far_ had set his heart afire, then vanished from his grasp forever.

Or, maybe not forever.

Footsteps echoed down the halls. Someone was running, feet carrying them closer and closer to Kouen’s cell.

Ja’far panted, the aching was back, and the object of his desire were right behind this sealed door.

He shook the handle, and the door didn’t budge.

The awful, trembling heat spread to his fingertips. 

“Open the door.” He mumbled to a scared guard, who declined. 

Ja’far spat, and scoffed, a nagging voice in his mind told him to force the door open. And honestly, it seemed appropriate in this situation. His vision blurred, and every nerve seemed to dull while the heat spread, or no, the _fire_ spread. His hands began to burn, it didn’t hurt, but he banged on the door, again and again until his powers lashed out, enveloping the door in pure _heat,_ becoming a smouldering ash before him, the fire wasn’t red but _blue,_ and he stepped over the embers with slight feet, hair askew and messy, eyes intense when they met with Kouen’s. 

The guard had fainted, but the guard wasn’t the one Kouen was thinking about. His attention was on the man with intensity rivalling lighting in his eyes.

“Ja’far.” The name felt unfamiliar on his tongue, but he had a feeling he would get used to it.


	3. Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ja’far and Kouen’s first kiss.
> 
> Also timeskips.

Kouen wasn’t one to be surprised, but having Ja’far _burn_ his door down to see him was unexpected. But he wasn’t unwelcome, no, Ja’far’s desire for him made the spark burn bright.

“You look...” he didn’t finish his compliment, as Ja’far had already dropped to his knees in front of Kouen, pressing his hands against his bare shins, enjoying the cooling feeling while trying to keep his _control._ If his powers lashed out and turned Kouen into crisp he didn’t know what he would do.

“I look what?” Ja’far chuckled, he felt tired, but the burning of his heart had stopped, cooled down when he had touched Kouen.

“You look hot.”

Maybe, just maybe, Ja’far thought, he had gotten the wrong man for his first love.

His thoughts swirled around leaving Kouen here, but he decided to trace pale fingers over the rope that bound him, letting fibre after fibre burn away, the ropes falling to the ground.

Ja’far casted a single glance at the wooden arm, before taking his real one, placing it on his cheek, leaning into it.

“You are awfully touchy, for someone in your position.” Kouen said, running a thumb _awfully_ close to Ja’far’s lips. Feeling the soft skin around his nose, circling around the freckles.

“Needed you.”

Kouen raised an eyebrow. Someone needing him wasn’t usually nice, but if it was Ja’far, he might accept.

The times they have been together have been few, but the annoying feeling that Kouha would describe as ‘love’ was still hammering him into dust, and if Ja’far was the salvation to his troubles, then what else would he do but bask in his presence?

His enjoyment of Ja’far pushing his own face into Kouen’s hand was short lived, as Sinbad entered the room.

Kouen would have groaned, but instead he ignored Sindria’s king, his attention on Ja’far, who had successfully clawed his way into Kouen’s lap, clawing at him as if he was in heat.

“You didn’t like my careful approach last time...” Ja’far mumbled, unsure of what to do but still wanting his hands to run over Kouen skin.

“I like this side of you better.” He mumbled, it felt out of place, being intimate with a man in his cell, and doing so in front of said man’s boss.

Sinbad looked at the two with nothing but disappointment. “Ja’far.” He called out, and Ja’far stopped clawing at Kouen, looking embarrassed, away was the hard, eager side, and the fire that had spread through him cooled down, and he stood in front of Sinbad, apologisingz

It was back to being Sinbad’s lapdog. Kouen thought.

“I’m sorry for our intrusion, we shall leave.”

“You can leave, but I want some time with Ja’far before my exile.” Kouen said.

Ja’far seemed nervous, but...happy.

Sinbad raised an eyebrow, frowning afterwards before actually leaving. And Kouen saw the tension unravel from Ja’far’s shoulders.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Don’t play dumb. What in the world are you?” Kouen asked, red eyes trailing over the ashy remains of the door, and the slight burn to his wrist. “A magician?”

“....I’m not a magician. I call it _pyrokinesis._ Or ability to control fire.” Ja’far said. Kouen could tell his gaze was looking somewhere far, far away.

Kouen mused over his answer. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

“We think that I’m the only one that has ever had it.”

“Interesting.” Kouen chuckled. He had never heard the term in any of his history books, maybe Ja’far really was a particular example of this...Pyrokinesis.

“I hope it doesn’t scare you off.” Ja’far said, a hand gliding along Kouen’s arm.

Kouen smirked. “It makes you more interesting, if anything.” Ja’far’s hand had crept to his thigh.

“Thank you.” His words came out quite, like a whisper.

Ja’far felt ridiculous afterwards, throwing himself to a man so quickly. But he and Kouen, or En, had agreed to send letters. And Ja’far had slipped something to Kouen before he had gone to the ship with his brothers.

“It’s called an Eye of the Rukh. We can talk with it.”

Kouen had thanked him, and Ja’far guessed that this _feeling_ was similar to the one that women had, seeing their husbands leave for war.

Kouen had looked back at him once, before he fully went onto the ship that would transport them to Samon island.

Ja’far wondered if he maybe would be able to visit, once a year at least.

Sinbad had grown to heights Ja’far knew he could have, but still got surprised by.

Ja’far had only one complaint about his situation as Sinbad’s right hand man. The lack of free time.

He wanted to visit Kouen, to touch and get touched, to not simply imagine the other man’s dry lips on his own cracked ones, to not imagine the subtle spice that lingered on his tongue, or the warmth that spread through him.

The warmth, he guessed, wasn’t imaginary at least.

They hadn’t actually kissed before, but Ja’far had the scenario playing in his head every damn time he went to bed.

He had grown close to Kouen under the years. Correction, _they_ had grown closer to each other, much closer than he ever thought they could. They were different people, but they had similarities, and Ja’far couldn’t help the faster beating of his heart when he thought about it.

His regret was also that he didn’t call Kouen, not even with the new shellphones. But he only thought about it throughly once Kouen had travelled from Samon Island to _meet him._

It was some time after Sinbad’s disappearance, when Ja’far had _finally_ been able to go back to Sindria, finally been able to put his comfortable robes on instead of the black and white suit.

Kouen didn’t know what he would’ve expected Ja’far to look like, in his right element.

Ja’far carried himself with pride, and with a knowing posture. You could tell from the air around him that he was the boss around there, soft smiles and careful hands, but still the leader of the parliamentary office.

The wheels of his wheelchair creak, and Kouen could see Ja’far’s eye twitch before he even noticed Kouen.

“Ja’far.” His voice carried out to Ja’far, and grey eyes became unfocused, head turning to Kouen and there was a silence between them.

Then, the corners of Ja’far’s cracked lips turned upwards, into a smile and Kouen knew well that he was the only one that could bring out that smile.

He had an urge to trace Ja’far’s lips with his tongue, but he sat back, waving with a wooden hand to him.

Ja’far had told everyone to stay quiet, and return to their work.

He had also helped Kouen into his room in the Purple Leo tower.

It’s when they were alone that Ja’far could exhale a ragged breath, shoulders slumping. Kouen felt the same weight fall off, simply being alone with the man he loved had this effect on him.

“You didn’t call.”

Ja’far nodded. “I didn’t.”

Kouen knew he wasn’t mad at Ja’far, but he still had wanted a call or two, just one at least.

But at least he was here now.

Ja’far leaned over Kouen, before falling to his knees. Head on Kouen’s knee. His hands caressing the wooden shin.

“Makes me nostalgic.” Kouen mumbled, wishing that Ja’far would creep up onto his lap, rather than stay on the floor.

“Didn’t think you were one for nostalgia.”

Kouen ran a hand through Ja’far’s white hair, hearing a _purring_ sound.

“Feels nice.” Ja’far said.

They stayed like that, at least for a while, before Ja’far carefully crawled up into Kouen’s lap. A nice, comfortable spot. He rested his head on the older man’s shoulder.

“Not as forward as last time.” Kouen’s hands were the best thing, Ja’far noted, still strong after all these years, and still so nice when they dragged them up and down Ja’far’s scarred back, he chuckled.

“You’re right.” Ah, but the heat began to pool in him a way it hadn’t before, and Ja’far arched his back, leaning into Kouen more, spurring the heat _on_ instead of cooling him down.

The _temperature_ of Ja’far, Kouen had learned, was important. It was somewhat easier telling his moods by the way his body warmed up.

And, the way Ja’far was heating up right now was relaxing.

But Ja’far shifted, legs familiarly placed around Kouen but his arms were hanging limply behind the broad back, slightly unsure of what to do.

His mouth opened, before closing and thin brows knitted together, before placing a kiss on Kouen’s collarbone. Soft, hot lips smudging saliva on the skin, still unsure of what to do when it related to kissing Kouen.

Well, they hadn’t actually kissed, even if they were long into this relationship, but being a distanced pair made it hard with any...physical touches.

But Ja’far had still dreamt of it, just a _quick_ peck, just a tiny, tiny kiss.

Kouen knowing smirk was the thing that made him snap.

Kouen was proud of his way of having a neutral expression, even in surprising situations. But Ja’far _always_ made it get throw it out the windows, eyes widening when Ja’far had pulled him fiercely towards him, and _oh,_ despite Ja’far’s chewed through lips and cracks through the dry skin he still had soft lips. Soft lips that Kouen had against his own.

Why haven’t they done this before?

There was a soft, crackling sound coming from behind him, Kouen noticed. But he didn’t care, instead focusing on the tongue prodding at his lower lip and Ja’far’s body cooling down somewhat.

Ja’far pulled away, eyes glossy before they shot up in shock.

“The curtains!” He frantically tried jumping off Kouen’s lap, before Kouen held him still.

“Breathe.”

“The curt-“

“You can stop it, can’t you?” Kouen didn’t mean it to sound harsh, but it did, and he could see the shifting of Ja’far’s eyes, before he took a deep breath, his eye twitching, and becoming somewhat dull, and the raging fire eating the fancy laced curtains died, black burnt spots remaining.

“Ja’far.” His voice was softer, this time around. Kinder, and his hand travelled up Ja’far’s back. He was glad that the name didn’t sound unfamiliar in his mouth anymore, it felt right at home now, even if the atmosphere had gotten moody.


	4. Smoke

The thinly veiled smoke that had lingered around them at first had long since dispersed, letting Kouen see Ja’far clearer than he thought he would.

It had felt bad, leaving Kou for what seemed as for good, even if he knew he would return some day, but it got better when he had seen the first letter arrive.

Ja’far had neat writing, showing his many hours out into the written word, and Kouen found enjoyment in just reading it, not for what the words meant, but how beautifully they had been written. 

Another thing that he enjoyed was of course the updates and messages that was on those letters, and the growth from a seemingly ‘work-letter’ type to ‘almost-heartfelt-writing’ and Kouen loved tracing the smudges of ink that had been put there from a tired Ja’far accidentally.

It showed that he was tired, and Kouen wished he could force his lover to sleep, without anything bothering him. Kouen knew he could be just as bad when it came to sleeping though.

He could still see the neat writing flick across his vision.

It was long since he had gotten a letter from Ja’far, but it didn’t matter when he had the man in his arms, yawning and content. 

Koumei was in Kou now, and Kouen in Sindria, he knew Kouha had gone somewhere, but he was unsure.

He sighed, Kouha would be able to handle himself, and Ja’far was stealing Kouen’s attention away anyhow.

Ja’far wasn’t asleep, yet at least. Red eyes trailed pale hands in the dark, even when they pulled Kouen’s hands around his waist.

“Go to sleep.” He huffed, beard surely scratching Ja’far’s shoulder. The man scoffed back. 

“You need it too.”

“Not as badly as you.” Kouen mouthed a kiss to Ja’far’s freckled shoulder, nibbling on the pale skin it for good measure.

“Ah-“

Kouen bit, this time. Earning a _whimper_ from Ja’far.

He chuckled darkly, teeth grazing the shell of an ear, blowing hot breath on this one sensitive spot. “Masochist.”

“I’m not...” Ja’far murmured, eyes lidded and panting, his clothes felt too _heavy,_ too _hot._

Kouen hummed into the mess of silky strands that made up Ja’far’s hair. “ _You are,_ now go to sleep.”

Ja’far smiled, Kouen didn’t notice, but he _did_ notice the hand creeping into his own, a warm hand intertwining with his under the blankets.

Kouen really had softened, hadn’t he?

Some might say that it was a good thing, out of wars and into peace, the last war and start of rebuilding of the world past them and he even had a lover, loyal and devoted and Kouen knew he couldn’t have it better as it was. Ja’far was wonderful.

His lover was also unfairly good looking.

Kouen hadn’t thought much about how others looks, but Ja’far had a...serene beauty that surrounded him, an air of freedom and determination, calm and collected and it left Kouen to _wonder_ how nobody had snatched him up before he had gotten his hands on the pale man.

Ja’far had told him before, that he wasn’t pretty, not enough for someone like Kouen.

Kouen didn’t know how Ja’far was so good at lying. For it had to be lying.

But still, Ja’far’s general company was nice, fresh air compared to the more talkative people he had met. Not that he necessarily needed to know many people.

Every part of him burned for Ja’far, and he knew Ja’far did as well, usually with a more literal sense.

Kouen pulled himself back, a quiet ‘smack’ noise ringing out when their lips parted.

Ja’far’s grey eyes were not dull, but unfocused, a shimmering deep inside but Kouen could only sigh, looking at the red rose that had caught fire.

Jafar blushes, even the tips of his sensitive ears had been tinted with a red hue.

It was sort of cute, seeing him flustered, but it was quickly pushed away with the thought that _every time_ they kissed something caught fire.

His beloved was special, and he was ready to deal with that, but Ja’far needed to control the fires that welled up.

They had tried something different, the next time they kissed.

Ja’far had been nervous, but he hadn’t objected.

“I trust you, En.” Ja’far murmured, soft features curling up into a smile, and Kouen nodded, bringing their faces closer.

When the first, electrifying spark shot through them when they connected Ja’far had fluttered his eyes open, eyes looking at a wax candle on the bedside table.

As quickly as his eyes landed on the candle, it began to burn. Aggressively.

Kouen was surprised, his hot mouth trailing down further, leaving bruising kisses on Ja’far’s neck and collarbone, sucking the freckles and biting the sore spots.

“You look beautiful.” No matter how many times he uttered the compliment, it would still stand, but Ja’far had all his attention on the candle, trying to keep it from burning to hotly.

Kouen stopped, hands on Ja’far’s waist, rubbing patterns into his lower back.

“Did it work?”

Ja’far shook his head.

They couldn’t even _kiss._

They could hug, and touch but Kouen wanted to feel those soft lips against his. He needed it.

But he didn’t want to make it harder for Ja’far. He had seen the distress it caused for Ja’far, someone who thought he had it all under control, and then he comes and kisses him, making him turn a tree into a pile of ash.

Kouen had decided to roll around the castle, hoping to rid his thoughts. 

Even the halls looked nice, pristine and welcoming. The ceiling high and he felt...small. He knew he didn’t belong there, he only was there to be with Ja’far after all.

He got pulled out of the start of his musing by a familiar crackling sound.

When the light caught his eye he got a pang of familiarity to his chest.

It wasn’t the same, not by a long shot. But still, it called to him.

He could see Ja’far, huddled up into a ball on the ground, trenches of fire burning in a bright ring around him, hindering anyone from coming close.

He had trouble walking at times, and preferred to save his magoi, but with a cane he stood up to his full height, not as imposing with appearance as he had 5 years ago, but he was still _Ren Kouen._

Ja’far might be training, or he had lost control. 

_”My abilities have been shaky, these last years.”_

He stretched, using a cane to keep himself up right when he walked, the heat burning his skin without even touching it.

“Ja’far, are you okay?” He didn’t know if his liver would hear him over the crackling, but after a while the flames calmed down, revealing a tired Ja’far, with burn marks on his robes, and tiny flames dancing around his knuckles.

“I had hoped to exhaust myself, so the flames wouldn’t spread.” Ja’far said, a hand running through his hair. He was sure it wouldn’t work, he could light fires without a problem after all, but maybe keeping it on bay with full force would still be tiring. “I want to kiss you, after all.” He sighed.

Kouen sat down next to Ja’far. 

He wasn’t good at heart to heart, but he might as well try something.

Or not.

They sat in silence, Ja’far’s feet curling up and out.

“To be honest...I lost the flame, once.” Ja’far began. “I was...fourteen? Maybe, and had been in a war. I lost my control and blazed the entire island, and I couldn’t use my ability at all.” He chuckled dryly. “I felt dead, psychically and mentally.”

Kouen listened, interested in the story.

“Ah, I guess I wished for it to happen again? I just don’t want to be a bother to you. And...” Ja’far swallowed.

“And?”

“I lost a bit of my touch with you. Before I had been aching and burning, literally, for you. After the lost of djinns i couldn’t feel it anymore, you or anyone else.” Ja’far’s flickered over sunshine eyes, but quickly shook it off. He smiled sadly to Kouen. “But I couldn’t forget about you.”

Kouen thought over it, when the djinns had disappeared? It had been a huge shock for many, but _why_ then?

Maybe he should’ve thought about it before.

Kouen clicked his tongue. “It was Astaroth, wasn’t it?”

“Astaroth?” 

“One of my djinns. A _fire_ djinn.”

“That would make sense, I have been naturally drawn to fire before.” Ja’far brushed his fingers over Kouen, leaving a small peck on his shoulder.

“Your attraction to me at first, it was of Astaroth then.”

“Most likely.”

“So it was a lie.” Kouen mumbled.

“A lie?”

“Your ‘love,’ it was forced by your ability.”

Ja’far blinked. “Maybe, but it isn’t forced now.” He leaned forward, pressing a peck to Kouen’s cheek. Ja’far had the faintest of blushes on his face when he helped Kouen to his wheelchair, and before the two walked off.


	5. Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, more of a sort of epilogue.

Their relationship might not have a _label,_ but what did it matter, really? Ja’far was happy with their relationship, and Kouen too.

Just enjoying themselves, and seeing the world build itself up form it’s ruin was enough for Kouen.

He wasn’t a prince, but the lover of a perfect man in a country that... was a good country. People were educated, treated well and everyone seemed happy. 

He missed Kou, but _Ja’far_ wasn’t in Kou, he was in Sindria.

And just going back to Kou might bring unwanted attention, and Ja’far knew all to well what a trained assassin could do if they decided they wanted Kouen dead.

“Love.” Ja’far smiled lovingly.

Ah, but Ja’far didn’t look a day older from the day he had fallen in love with the soft spoken man, but even if he did age, Kouen doubted that the loving smile would.

They weren’t the most outspoken couple, or the most passionate, but they worked for each other. The fire might have cooled down to embers, but there was still a glowing spark that wouldn’t fade for a long time, if it even could go out completely.


End file.
